


care not how the old grace goes

by blackkat



Series: Horoscope Drabbles [12]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Artists, F/M, Mercenaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 03:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17257112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: She never draws his face.





	care not how the old grace goes

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Normal Horoscopes on Tumblr:
> 
> Scorpio: A city of artists and whores. A city both famous and infamous.

She never draws his face.

It might, Sasuke thinks, be maddening if it weren’t such a relief. Everyone in this mad, frenzied city looks for beauty, and they try to find it in him, try to put his face down on paper or into stone, and Sasuke has never hated anything more.

She doesn’t, though. The girl across the square, who looks down at her sketchbook more often than at the people passing. Sasuke gets his breakfast from the vendor on the corner every morning, passes behind her as he leaves the plaza, and—he knows it’s his hands she draws. He recognizes the scars from a lifetime of sword-work. His arms, too, or the curve of his shoulder, the line of his back, the fall of his hair. Never all at once, but a piece at a time, carefully laid out on parchment like she’s going to stitch them together when she’s done and have a complete piece.

All except his face. She’s never even tried to draw that, and Sasuke wonders at that even though he’s glad.

There's yet another festival in the city today, this week, this month—Sasuke isn't sure where they count the end of one and the beginning of another. The music is too loud, irritating, raucous in Sasuke's ears, and he hunches under his cloak, tucked back against a wall so no one will call him out into the wild throngs that fill the streets. No one is looking to hire a guard this time, and city is too much, too _alive_. People tangled together in streets, under a rain of colored sparks that only seem to drive the frenzy higher, and Sasuke looks away as best he can, wrapping his arms around himself.

He doesn’t love, and he doesn’t create. This city wasn’t meant for him, but he can't bring himself to leave it, either.

And then, soft, there's a touch against his shoulder.

Sasuke twitches, spins, one hand on the hilt of his sword and magic pooling in his palm. But—there's no threat. Just the artist girl, sketchbook clutched against her chest, pale lavender eyes wide in surprise as she stares at him.

There's a pencil holding her knot of dark hair pinned up. Sasuke doesn’t know why he notices that more than anything else, but—he does.

“I—I'm sorry!” the girl says, though she doesn’t take a step back. “I just thought—th-there's a balcony?”

Sasuke lets his eyes follow her gesture, and maybe it’s stupid, but just the thought of getting out of the streets makes a knot of tension unwind from his shoulders. “Are you inviting me up?” he asks, though, makes it sharp-edged, sarcastic. There are enough people who’ve made it their life’s work to topple him into the nearest bed that he’s always wary of such offers.

But the girl flushes, crimson washing over her face, and in an instant her sketchbook comes up to hide her expression. “N-not like _that_ ,” she protests. “I'm so sorry, I don’t—”

That relief is even greater, somehow, and Sasuke breathes out. He drops his hand from the hilt of his sword, and reaches out to nudge the sketchbook lower, until he can see her face. “You don’t like crowds?” he asks, and means _you don’t like crowds either_.

Still flushed, she shakes her head. “I stay inside,” she admits. “During the festivals.”

“Hn.” Sasuke glances at the whirling madness the streets have become and grimaces. “Me too.” He just forgot to buy food this time, and hunger drove him out before the celebrations finished.

Tentatively, carefully, the artist smiles at him, and points to a ladder propped against the side of the building. “We can go up that way?” she offers, more question than statement.

Sasuke had manners, once. Probably. “Want me to carry that?” he asks, tipping his chin at her sketchbook.

“No,” she says, surprisingly firm for all of an instant. Then she flushes again, and stutters, “I-it’s just, my _art_ —”

“It’s fine,” Sasuke says shortly, and steps into the crowd, making his body a barrier as the girl ducks through the throng, darting through the press with the ease of practice. She gets to the building before Sasuke does, then tucks her sketchbook under one arm and heads up the ladder with surprising speed.

When Sasuke makes it to the top, the girl is perched on the very edge of the balcony, legs crossed beneath her, sketchbook in her lap and pencil in hand. Her hair is loose, tumbling down her back, and Sasuke eyes it, even as he takes a seat beside her.

“It’s nicer to watch from up here,” the girl says, and out of the madness her voice is steadier, less hesitant. She gives Sasuke a smile, and it’s a sweet, careful thing, like holding a bird between his hands. “I'm Hinata.”

“Sasuke,” he returns, and lets his eyes fall back to the crowd below. Hinata is right. The view from up here should by all rights feel lonely, but—it doesn’t. Just peaceful. Hinata is a quiet presence, but easy as she sits at his side, their shoulders just close enough to brush on the narrow balcony, and—

It’s good, Sasuke thinks, a little startled.

Maybe there's a place in this city for him after all.


End file.
